Six
by TinkerbellReturns
Summary: AU: Neal Cassidy works as a driver for Mrs and Mr Nolan. His father, the gardener at the manor, is trying his best to reunite his son with the only woman he ever loved: Emma Swan, only heir to the Nolans and the wife of much feared businessman Killian Jones. However, in a place where no one is what they seem to be, a mysterious letter is all it takes to make everyone's masks fall.
1. Chapter 1: Grand Canyon

**Chapter 1: Grand Canyon**

"What are you doing here, Neal?"

He jumped at her voice.

There was a very simple way to answer that question. He worked for the Nolans, where else would he be if not in their house?

But, as the family driver, being in her bedroom was not an easy thing to justify.

"I just… I- I was- You-"

"This has to stop," said Emma Swan, their only daughter, a stunning woman nearing her thirties, heir to her parents' business, one of the richest women in town. "If Killian finds you here, he will kill you."

He tried not to wince at that name. Killian Jones, her husband, one of the most suspicious men he had ever crossed paths with… And that was saying a lot, given the amount of suspicious people he ran across in his line of business.

Well… Not his daytime line of business, at least.

"Emma, chill out," he said, trying to look cool and collected, despite the twitch on his eye. "I'm just looking for your son."

"Why?"

"I have to drive him to school."

"Today is Sunday."

_Damn._

"Well, looks like someone has been forgetting their own son's field trips."

"What field trip?"

He cleared his throat when she took a step closer to him, hands in her waist. Damn those stilettos. The woman was towering in front of him and making it even harder for him to focus and keep up with his tale.

"Grand Canyon."

"Grand Canyon? He's eleven!"

"So?" he shrugged, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "I take it there's no age for… hiking."

"How come I was not notified?"

"You probably were. Have you been checking your e-m-"

"Neal!"

He wrinkled his nose as soon as Henry's voice reached his ears. In a matter of seconds, the boy was walking towards him, with a grin splattered across his face.

"Hey buddy!" he said, shuffling the boy's head as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Hey kid." The frown on Emma's face made it very obvious that soon enough his lie would go down the drain. "Since when you're going to the Grand Canyon?"

"I'm going to the Grand Canyon?" Henry asked, his eyes going wide with excitement.

"Yeah, your field trip, remember?"

Neal raised his eyebrows, his smile slightly shaky as he silently begged the kid to cooperate.

_It wouldn't be the first time._

"Oh, right," the boy said, blinking before looking at his mother. "For Mr. Tillman's class."

"Really?" she asked, crossing her arms. "A field trip to the Grand Canyon for your crafts class?"

The boy opened his mouth to respond, and Neal felt bad for the kid. Emma Swan and her legendary bullshit detector.

_Which only made him wonder how on earth she had married a man like Killian Jones._

"I'm quite sure the details are on the memo you got," Neal said, sending a wink towards his young partner in crime.

"I've already said I got no memo."

"Maybe you should check your e-mail, then," he concluded, leading Henry out of the room. "Because your husband has already signed the consent form."

"Whoa, thanks!" said Henry, as soon as they were out of hearing distance. "I should have thought of another teacher."

"That's fine, kid," he replied, looking at the boy with a smile. "Sorry for putting you on the spot."

"That's okay. So, what is the plan?"

Neal let out a sigh. He really wished he could tell Henry everything. But, if he did, the boy's life would definitely take a turn for the worse.

"I was just looking for something in your mother's room, and then she walked in on me," he said. It was the most absolute truth, after all. "You were the first excuse I could think of…"

"What were you looking for?" the boy asked, with a smirk. "Something from the time you were her boyfriend?"

_Were her boyfriend._ He really hated that verb in the past tense. And oh, he and Emma had been past for a very long time now…

"How do you know that?" he asked, to stop himself from drowning in memories.

"She told me some of your stories."

"Oh did she?"

"Yeah. She doesn't hate you, you know?"

_'Yeah, she just happened to marry the man I hate the most in the entire world...'_

"What is it I hear," said a familiar voice behind them. "You were caught in Mrs. Swan room?"

"Henry, can you go wait for me in the kitchen?" said Neal, before turning to look at his father, who also happened to work for the Nolans.

"What are you, stupid?" asked Mr. Gold, as he insisted on being called even when he was on duty – as a gardener.

"Hey, hey!" he exclaimed, turning to look at Henry to make sure the kid was far enough not to hear them. "At least I'm subtle, okay? Differently from you and your… methods."

"Subtle? Oh, indeed," said the older man, with a sneer that seemed to translate into his tone of voice. "Getting caught red-handed, very subtle."

"And who are you to judge me? Really, sneaking into the kitchen and putting parsley in his soup, knowing he is allergic to it?" Neal hissed in response. "Do you really think you're helping me get Emma back?"

"What are you complaining about? 'Til this day, they think it was Granny's fault."

"And you're proud of it? Of getting an innocent person involved in your mess? You can't be serious."

"Oh, you pay too much attention to the details, Bae."

Neal bit his lip, and a good observant would notice his nostrils flaring as he looked at his old man.

"We had agreed that if I'm not going to use your real name then you're not going to use mine."

"Oh, whatever," Mr. Gold replied, with an impatient wave. "All that matters to me, son, is that you and Emma get back together."

"Are you insane? I'm _engaged_!"

"And she is _married!_ So what?"

Maybe the old man's intentions were genuine. But, for some reason, all his attempts to play Cupid backfired in such a way that by that time Neal wished he wouldn't bother trying to help at all.

"And I will do whatever I can to help," he heard his father add.

So much for _that _thought.


	2. Chapter 2: What happens in Vegas

**Chapter 2: What happens in Vegas...**

He yawned as he dragged himself to his apartment door and searched for the keys in his pocket.

Another day without any surprises. It had been four years since he started working for the Nolans, and seeing Emma Swan on a daily basis was starting to take its toll on him. Every time he saw her with Killian, he felt like tearing his eyes out. Of all the men in the universe... How come she had chosen him?

He opened the door with a frown, and barely acknowledged his fiancee sitting on the couch. Maybe the fact his ex had associated with such a rotten character only proved that he had never even known her at all...

"What a loss to spend that much time with someone," he muttered, with a vacant look in his eyes after locking the door behind him, "only to find out that she's a stranger..."

"Quoting Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," said Tamara, finally lifting her eyes from the magazine she was reading. "Difficult day at work, I take it?"

He took a moment to study the woman with curly short brown hair and her stylish reading glasses. She was giving him one of those knowing smiles, and he couldn't help but feel relieved to get a break from all the other businesses competing for his attention.

"I bought the grapes you like," she said, passing him a dish as he slumped onto the couch next to her. "And beer."

_The magic word._

"I don't know what I would do without you," he responded, letting a hand fall on her leg as he smiled.

"Not much, probably."

"Yeah..."

"How are David and Mary Margaret?"

"I haven't seen them in... weeks. I guess they're still touring Europe."

"It's their thirtieth anniversary. It's fair."

"Yeah..."

"And Emma?"

"She's fine..." he replied, after clearing his throat and trying not to look too bothered. "Still... married. To Killian Jones."

"For four years now," she said, as she chewed a grape. "Didn't think they would last that much, they don't seem... to have much in common."

"That's because they don't have anything in common," he replied, opening a bottle of beer as he spoke. "I just... I don't understand, you know?" he turned to look at his fiancée, his brow furrowed once again. "After what he did to Belle, to me, to my father... to her. How? It's just... I don't get it."

"Some people only see what they want to."

"Yeah..." he whispered, taking a large gulp of his beer in an attempt to clear his mind. Emma was past. They were over. It was not as if he should care about her love life anyway. "I guess..."

He shrugged, drinking more from the bottle. And also, he was _engaged_.

"You know, I should take a shower," he said, getting to his feet when there was no more beer left. "Long night ahead."

"You gonna work this weekend?"

"I don't know. Why?"

When she shrugged, he searched his mind for what he was missing.

"Oh wait," he said, turning back to look at her. "The dance festival is this weekend, isn't it?"

"Do you think you'll be able to go?"

"I'll find a way."

"Not easy to match the schedules of a dance instructor and a private investigator, is it?" she asked, flinging her arms over his shoulders. "Thanks for trying."

He winked at her, patting her softly on the top of her hands.

_That's what friends are for._

* * *

Back at the Nolans, Emma Swan was in her balcony, looking deeply entertained with her own thoughts as night fell.

"Mrs. Swan."

Her heart nearly jumped out of her mouth when the voice of their gardener awoke her from her trance.

"Gold," she muttered, hand in chest as if trying to get her heart rate back to normal. "What are you doing here? It's late."

"Oh, I wanted to check on the Nottingham catchfly," he replied, with the beginning of a sneer. "See, it only blooms at night and I didn't want to miss it."

"Whatever those Nottingham things are, I hope you're not planning on adding them to Killian's food."

"Oh that was _most unfortunate,_ wasn't it?" he asked, his sneer now in full display. "I thought he was joking. I had never seen anyone allergic to _parsley._"

She lowered her head, shaking it slightly at the man's words. It was not as if she knew Neal's father all that well, but his obvious hatred for her husband made him an easy guess whenever strange things happened in their house.

"So you know it was me."

"It's getting hard for me not to fire you," she said. "I'm running out of excuses."

"You won't fire me. Your parents like me."

"I'm not that sure..."

"Worry not," he said, clutching his cane with a cryptic look in his eyes. "I _know_ they do."

She had to chuckle at his confidence.

"You look sad, Mrs. Swan."

"Stop calling me Mrs. Swan. We don't need that kind of formality."

"I think we do. I'm just a servant now."

His voice was void of resignation, though. Despite his choice of words, Gold sounded just as daring and smug as ever.

"What has been bothering you?" he asked.

"Nah... I'm just tired."

"Where is your husband?"

"On a business trip," she answered, her gaze once again lost upon the gardens below them. "In Vegas."

"Vegas? Oh, I see."

"He's coming back home tonight."

"You don't say..."

"Actually..." she squinted to better see the car that had just approached the gates to their property. "I think he just did."

"Good. I feel better knowing you'll have company when I leave. Where is Henry, by the way?"

"In the kitchen, with Granny."

"That boy really likes to eat, doesn't he?" he asked, with a slight frown. "And talk. Reminds me an awful lot of _my son._"

She managed to keep a straight face even though her heart had skipped a beat at his comment.

"I still have a hard time believing he is not my son's son, as a matter of fact."

When she raised her eyes to his, she could see that they were burning with an inevitable question.

"Aaaaaaaarrghhh!"

One that he would definitely ask if only an agonizing cry of pain coming from the hall downstairs hadn't interrupted him.

"The... lunatic... GOLD!"

Emma nearly rolled down the stairs as she rushed to reach her husband, who was now sprawled on the porch with a sinister metal trap attached to his leg.

"YOU SON OF A BI-"

"My, oh my, I think you stepped into one of my traps," Gold replied, looking deeply amused at the man's pain. "I think the yard is infested with rats... But since I didn't know exactly how big they were, I went for the most sophisticated contraptions."

Indeed, that was a sophisticated trap - one that was making Killian Jones wail in pain as half of his leg got crushed by metallic tentacles.

"GET IT OUT!" he snarled, as Emma crouched next to him.

"I'm sorry, but I don't work overtime," Mr. Gold replied, baring his teeth as he spoke. "Besides... I'm not sure I know how that thing is supposed to work. When it snapped closed for the first time, I took three days to get it open again," he added, walking past the door without a wrinkle of concern on his aged face. "But good luck, anyway."

* * *

It was way past eleven when he finally got to the pub where he was supposed to meet his informant.

"Leroy."

"Cassidy."

The two men sat by the counter and ordered their drinks in a far corner of the dimly-lit bar.

"So?"

"You ready?"

"I was born ready. Hit me."

"This is hot stuff," said Leroy. "You'd better make a good bid."

Neal let out a sigh as he pulled out five 100-dollar bills out of his wallet.

"That won't do, sister."

"Jesus, you're really gonna rip me off? After all these years?"

"I have six brothers to feed."

With a snort, Neal added five more bills to the ones on the counter.

"Now that's better."

"Okay, now show me what you got. This better be good."

"Ha... Don't worry," the shorter man raised an eyebrow with a devilish smirk on his lips. "Trust me, this is so much better than good."

He touched the screen of his iPad, and before Neal had time to ask what exactly he was going to watch, the lewd sound of a woman moaning as if there was no tomorrow made several heads turn to look at them.

"If this is porn I could have gotten it for free," he whispered.

"Oh, this _is_ porn. But keep watching, and you'll see why it's worth every penny."

Trying to avoid the multitude of eyes that were on him, especially now that male groans had joined the choir of unholy human sounds, he frowned at the realization he knew who that man was.

"What the-"

"We have been tracking this contact Mr. Killian Jones has in Vegas for ages. Most elusive person ever. Never got caught on camera. Hundreds of fake ids. No relatives, at least, none alive. None that _we knew of,_ at least."

In the meantime, Neal's eyes went even wider when the two wannabe porn stars, one of them being beloved Emma's husband, Killian Jones, engaged in even more _heated_ moves as they rolled from the bed to the floor.

"Holy crap!"

"Yeah! Pretty wild, isn't it?"

"The cheating pig!"

"To think that mouth is heading back home to kiss your ex, huh?"

Neal nearly threw up in his mouth.

"When did this happen?"

"Yesterday, at the MGM. Keep watching."

"And how did you get the footage?"

"We infiltrated someone to spike their drinks a little. They hardly ever let themselves be seen together, so when one of my associates saw them come in, I knew we had to act," Leroy zoomed in so that the woman's face would come into view, but given their position, all they could see was Killian' shoulders. "One hour later and they were sucking face on the gambling floor. Barely made it back to his room in time."

"And then... HD Hidden Cameras."

"Yeah. Keep watching."

Looking at Killian Jones' pale ass was not something that he felt remotely inclined to do, but much to his relief, the man disappeared for a brief moment, allowing his companion's face to be captured with all clarity by one of the lenses.

_"There."_

Neal felt his jaw had just dropped.

"Hell no!" me muttered, leaning forward to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him. "Are you... Are you kidding me?"

"I kid you not."

"No. No way!"

"Yeah..." Leroy chuckled, shaking his head as he gulped down his vodka. "The woman you just saw getting her... needs met, so to speak, is none other than Regina Mills."


	3. Chapter 3: A plan gone wrong

**Chapter 3: A plan gone wrong**

He had never been a morning person, but he had to admit that having breakfast at the Nolans, sitting by one of the three fountains in their perfect gardens while the eight o'clock sun gently licked the skin that was not covered by his suit, lifted his spirits much more than any other nighttime activity.

Well, except for one nighttime activity or two, but still...

"You should take off those sunglasses, you look like a bodyguard."

He cast a quick glance towards his father as he chewed on a cinnamon roll and took another sip from his latte.

"Sorry, but I don't take fashion advice from a man wearing a flowered apron."

"I have to look the part."

"You're trying too hard."

"Heh," his father took off his gloves before nearing him by the fountain. "Tell me, son, what do you think about the architect the Nolans hired?"

"Who, Mendell?"

"Yeah."

His gaze shifted to a man wearing a beret and very shiny shoes taking measures of a door just across the pond on the far end of a corridor covered with vines.

"Shady."

"Ah. Then I'm not the only one."

"There's something iffy about him. He's always sweating when I pass him by."

"And his eyes... always darting around the place."

"I've talked to him a couple of times," said Neal, after wiping his mouth on a napkin. "He's a studied man. Always very kind to Granny, to everyone really. I don't think he means any harm here, but yeah... I think he's odd."

A soft buzz coming from the cell phone in his pocket reminded him he would have to take off soon, so he finished his latte and took a long, deep breath before speaking again.

"I need your advice."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I need your advice," he repeated.

"Did I hear it right?" said Mr. Gold, after putting down his shovel and wiping a drop of sweat from his brow. "My son needs my advice?"

Neal had to chew on his tongue not to respond to the taunt. His relationship with his father had never been a bed of roses - he doubted it would ever be. The two of them had far too much in common.

"Say it again."

"Don't push it," he hissed.

"Very well. And what kind of advice do you need?"

"Stop laughing."

"I'm not laughing. But I am delighted."

"Killian is cheating on Emma."

He noticed his father didn't look surprised; at his words, not even a slight frown had wrinkled his face.

"Now that is not exactly news, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"All those business trips..."

"Yeah, that's what we all suspected, but I have evidence now."

"And?"

"And I don't know whether I should show her or not."

"You want to show her."

"I do. I have to. But if she finds out I'm stalking her husband, she will

kick me out of her house."

"It's not as if you actually need the job, is it?"

"I need to stay undercover," Neal replied. Of course he didn't need the money. He had plenty left from his savings, after all. He had worked his fingers to the bone to get by without ever touching the little fortune he had received after his mother's death, but the fact remained he needed to be where Killian Jones was. "Four years tracking this guy, I'm so close now."

"You're nowhere as close to finding what you are looking for as you imagine, Bae. _Neal,_" he quickly corrected. "You know that."

"Yes, I am. I finally found out who he is working with. Not only _working _with, actually... But still, she may be the one whose account he uses. Maybe... Files, contracts, documents, maybe she is the one who keeps it all out of circulation, maybe this is why we never found anything in Killian's of-"

"Maybe, maybe, maybe, you know that in this line of business, 'maybe' is as good as nothing."

"But at least I know where to look now."

"Good. And how does getting Emma involved in it help anything?"

"It doesn't."

"Exactly."

"Papa, he's cheating on her! She doesn't deserve that."

"Well, she got married to a crook, didn't she? I'd say she had it coming."

"Don't say that."

"You wanted my advice, didn't you? So there it is."

He let out a sigh when his father picked up his gardening tools and shoved them back on his belt, before passing him by to cross the gardens.

"And by the way, son," he whispered into his ear, patting the younger man on the shoulder, "your love is showing."

He cursed under his breath. Why was the man so obsessed with the idea that he, Neal, still carried a torch for Emma Swan?

He didn't. He had stopped caring a long time ago.

He had learnt to stay strong, to keep himself together and be completely cool every time she showed up at the front door, just like she had right now, wearing a suit and tie, her wonderful blond hair tied up in an elaborate braid, her greenish eyes made even more mesmerizing by the layer of mascara on her eyelashes and her red lips, a stark contrast to her fair skin, those soft, warm lips that he had kissed so many times before...

But before his mind was tempted to delve into those cherished memories, the figure of a man limping behind her brought him back to reality.

_'Just what I needed...'_

"Cassidy?" he heard Killian Jones call out. "You're driving me to my office today."

_'The hell I am!'_

"I have to pick up Mr. and Mrs. Nolan at the airport," he answered, with what he could only expect was his most neutral expression. "As a matter of fact, I'm running late alr-"

"I've arranged for them to take a taxi," the voice of Emma Swan made his own die in his throat. "You'll be driving Mr. Jones to work today."

His eyes caught up with hers, and judging by the expression on her face, she was flagging him mentally. Goodness grief, why did that woman hate him that much?

"Is there a problem with the Bentley?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and, once again, struggling to keep his poker face intact.

"There is a problem with my leg," Killian replied, as he clutched his crutch and limped down the steps. "You can thank your father for that."

Of course. So thanks to another lousy move by the old man, he was now going to pay the price. What a surprise. No wonder he had been so quick to leave when Emma showed up outside. Right now, Neal was absolutely convinced that if that flimsy neck of his was anywhere near, he would certainly wrap his hands around it and never let go.

"So what... car... am I supposed to drive?"

He blinked several times as anger flooded his bloodstream. He could not lose it. He had to keep it cool. He had endured worse things in his life. All he had to do was drive that brainless lunatic, cold-blooded, two-timing son of a bitch to work.

He could do it.

"Use David's," Killian Jones replied, as a sneer curled the corners of his mouth. "You're too much of a bad driver for me to hand you the keys to mine."

_'Just breathe'._

"In that case, I can call you a taxi," Neal replied, amazed at himself for his unconcerned tone of voice.

"Just kidding, my boy. Where's your sense of humor?"

_'About to be shoved in a very intimate part of your body.'_

"Bye love."

He scratched his nose and looked away when the man in front of him turned to give Emma a quick peck on the lips before dragging himself into the car.

He could do it. All he had to do was breathe. Think happy thoughts. Sing. It was just a 40-minute drive.

"You know, I don't understand why you hate me so much," said Killian, after some ten minutes of the most absolute silence, when they had just gotten to the interstate.

_'When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful...'_ he sang mentally, totally ignoring the man on the backseat. _'A miracle, it was beautiful, magical...'_

"Is it because of Emma?"

_'And all the birds in the trees... well they'd be singing so happily...'_

"I didn't force her to marry me, you know? Actually, she was the one who looked for me."

_'...joyfully, playfully, watching me...'_

"We used to be so close, Baelfire..."

_'But then they sent me away... to teach me how to be sensible...'_

"By the way, when are you going to tell the Nolans that's your real name?"

_'...logical, responsible, practical...'_

"It was your father that killed your mother, not me."

He stepped on the brakes so suddenly that the seat by his side shook when Killian's head collided with it.

"Be pissed as much as you like," the man snarled, rubbing his nose that a second ago had been smashed against the passenger seat. "He went to jail because of a crime that _he_ committed!"

"A crime he would have never committed if it hadn't been for you trying to destroy our family."

"Your mother and I were in love!"

"You took advantage of her. And you made my father lose everything he had!"

"Still doesn't excuse him for murder."

"He was insane. What is _your _excuse?"

"What? I never murdered anyone!"

"But you've tried to."

"Ah_... Belle_."

The man's tone of voice was so sarcastic that he had to bite his lip and breathe deeply not to get his hands off the steering wheel to punch Killian Jones right between the eyes.

"Why do you even care? No one gives a damn about your father's _slag._"

Again, he smashed the brakes, but this time, he knew his anger would get the best out of him.

"Get out," he hissed, glaring daggers at the man on the backseat through the rearview mirror.

"We're in the middle of the highway."

"Get out or I will."

"Are you joking? I'm not getting out of the car!"

'Oh yes, you are.'

He took the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car, slamming the door shut as he walked to Killian's side of the car to open his door.

"Baelfire, w-what?" the other man stuttered, as Neal grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of the car. "Stop, what are you-stop!"

But he didn't.

Killian Jones was still sprawled on the side of the road when he got back into the car, slammed the door shut and sped away, his eyes shifting to the rearview mirror to cast a quick glance at the man trying to stand up as a cloud of dust engulfed him.

So much for his job at the Nolans.

But, thinking of it, now that things were going to blow up on his face, he might as well let it all out.

With shaky hands, he reached for his cell phone and dialed.

"David Nolan's office, how may I help you?"

"Mulan?"

"Who's this?"

"Neal Cassidy, the driver."

"Oh," there was silence on the other side of the line for a moment. "I have already told you that is not my name."

"I'm sorry, but your nickname is easier to remember," he said, eyes darting around frantically as his brain started processing just how badly he had just screwed up his life. "Has Emma left for work yet?"

"Who?"

He squeezed his eyes shut before speaking again. He was completely losing it.

_"Mrs. Swan."_

"She's about to."

"Tell her to wait for me. Tell her it's urgent."

"Fine. But-"

"Thank you."

He hung up before Emma's personal assistant had the time to respond.

Four years working on a case that he had officially ruined within a twenty-minute drive with Killian Jones. Four years trying to gather evidence of money laundering, identity theft, attempted murder, kidnapping, adultery. Well, not adultery, that had been a bonus.

But it didn't matter now.

He would be kicked out of their house as soon as Emma and the Nolans found out what he did. Just when he was so close to finally unveiling the man's scheme with Regina Mills...

When he reached the Nolans' front gate, he was sweating buckets. His mouth, dry. He quickly undid his tie and got rid of his jacket - his shirt was sticking to his back. Trying to get his nerves back under control, he rolled up his sleeves, counted to ten and parked the car.

Now that things had gone to hell already, the least he could do was let Emma know the kind of man she had gotten married to.

"What do you want?" she asked him, even before he got out of the car. "I have a meeting at ten and I can't be late."

"Not here," he replied, locking the door and walking towards the house.

"Whatever you have to say, just say it now."

"Nah, not here," he replied, walking faster and motioning for her to follow him. "Your office is better."

"Neal, I don't..."

He heard her throw a little fit behind him, but he still kept his gaze ahead of him.

"I need to show you something," he said, as soon as they entered her study and she closed the door behind them.

"What?"

The moment he took the cell phone out of his pocket, he realized how cruel the whole situation was. He was about to show her a video of her husband doing... _things_ to her mother's stepmother. How twisted was that?

"What is it, Neal?"

Before he felt tempted to call the whole thing off, he got the video started and placed his phone on her desk. He winced when the same lewd sounds from the night before started filling the room, and he was already getting ready to comfort her as soon as she burst into tears.

Okay. Knowing Emma Swan, maybe not 'burst into tears'. Maybe a discreet tear. A tremble of her chin. A hand covering her mouth in shock...

He frowned.

Maybe... the look of disappointment in her eyes?

An angry fit?

Disbelief?

He was starting to break into a sweat again.

_Unimpressed _was probably the best way to describe her as she watched her husband and his lover do all sorts of sexcrobatics.

Not a single twitch of the eye.

Not a sob.

_Nothing._

"What do you want, Neal?"

He blinked several times in an attempt to get his brain to work.'

"What do you mean, 'what do you want'?" he whispered, torn between anger and confusion. "Are you blind? I want you to see what a pig Killian Jones is."

"Nice try."

_"What?" _

"Do you really want me to believe this video is real?" she said, her voice finally showing some sort of emotion. "Get over yourself, Neal."

"What part of this doesn't look real to you?" he shrieked. "This is your husband and Regina Mills!"

Now she looked angry. Finally. Only, not at the right person, apparently.

"You're fired," she whispered, the corners of her mouth curling downwards as her eyes tore a hole past him.

_"What?"_

"I want you to leave. _Now._ I will ask my father to be generous with your compensation."

"Emma, you have to be kidding me."

"No. You are the one that probably thinks this is a joke."

"Emma, I-"

"What do you want, Neal?" she screamed, her anger scorching him from head to toe. "Do you think I'll just leave Killian and run to your arms? And forget everything you did to me?"

"Emma, how many times have I told I did not walk out on our wedding!" he had not expected that topic to come up. But then again, how would it not? Of course she still hated for him for not attending their wedding ceremony. But how could he, when Killian Jones himself had made sure he took an unexpected trip to the tropics? "I was kidnapped!"

"A very creative excuse. Too bad you were never able to prove it."

"But I will! I will!"

Actually, he knew that he probably wouldn't, not now that he had been fired.

"No, you won't. And you know why?" she took one step closer to her, and he couldn't actually believe that after the video she had just watched, her eyes were filled with tears because of _him. _

_Talk about a plan backfiring._

"Because you can't prove what never happened," she added, as a tear finally rolled down her face. "The reason why you left me that day is because you are _a coward_. You're scared of commitment."

"Emma, what are you talking ab-"

"How long have you been engaged to Tamara?" she asked, crossing her arms after wiping the tear away. "Six years?"

He had planned to say something, before his fiancée was brought into the conversation.

But now that she _had_ been brought into the conversation, all of a sudden he really did not know what to say.

"I think you get my point."

He did not. What was she suggesting? That his engagement was _a fraud?_

"Now go. And give me the keys to my father's car."

He reached for his pocket, a sudden buzz in his ears making him lose focus for a moment.

He felt a truck had just hit him.

At what point he had left her study and made it to the gardens, he honestly did not know. All he could see was Mary Margaret and David Nolan carrying their bags and walking towards him.

"Neal!" exclaimed the woman, outstretching her arms to greet him.

He tried to put on his best smile, but most likely he only looked like a man with a very strong stomachache.

"Hey," said David. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..."

"Is Emma still home?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Yeah..."

David waited until his wife entered the house to speak again.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I-"

"Neal. I know you," he whispered, looking over his shoulder to make sure there was no one around. And indeed, there wasn't, except for Greg Mendell, the architect, who was now on top of a ladder to take measures of part of the roof. "What happened?"

"Your... Your daughter just fired me."

"Why?"

He felt nauseated. He hated lying to David - of all people in that house, he was the one he had the best relationship with.

Especially because Emma's father also seemed to _hate _Killian Jones.

"I-"

"Hey, tell you what," David interrupted. "Let's go inside, and you tell me everything over drinks. Okay?"

He felt the man squeeze his shoulder in a very fatherly way, and he couldn't help but let out a faint smile.

"Okay."

He was about to follow the older man when his foot got caught in the ladder Mendell was propped in, and in a matter of seconds the thing swayed dangerously back and forth.

"Oh God!" they heard the architect mutter. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!"

When they looked up, they saw the man trying to keep his balance as he struggled to catch the cell phone that was apparently slipping from his hands.

As a matter of fact, the man seemed more worried about saving the cell phone than himself from the certain fall.

"Chill out, man," Neal screamed. "Just hold the ladder, I'll catch your phone if it falls!"

"No!"

The man's response was loaded with the purest form of panic. Instead of following Neal's advice, Mendell leaned sideways in an attempt to grab his phone, which made the ladder tip to the side and fall upon the nearest bushes as his cell phone flew the opposite direction.

"I got it, I got it," exclaimed Neal, as he rushed to catch the phone before it fell into the pond. "I go-"

Before he could finish his sentence, though, his gaze fell on the phone screen, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Neal?"

"What?"

"You're pale."

"Hmm?"

He should have hidden it. But then, what would he say? At the moment, he was more concerned about how Greg Mendell, the wobbly architect, had had access to that video. Certainly it could not be found on Youtube - if it could, then he had spent one thousand dollars for nothing.

"What the hell?" whispered David. "Is that... Is that-"

"Yeah. Regina Mills and your son-in-law."

Both men looked at each other, and then at the ladder - just to find Greg Mendell running for his life.

"You close in on him while I cover the left wing," said David, before both of them set off after the unexpected fugitive.

Just what he needed. A distraction. He could really do with throwing some punches right now. As he ran, he felt his head clear, his eyes fixated on Mendell's beret.

Closer. Closer. _Closer._

They were about to get to the gate when David jumped from behind a statue and tackled Greg Mendell to the ground.

"No!" the man screamed. "Stop! It's not what you're thinking!"

"Really?" David panted. "And what am I thinking?"

"I-I-I don't know!" the man stuttered, as the beret slid from his head and covered half of his face, which only made him look even more pathetic. "But I can explain everything!"


	4. Chapter 4: The Letter

David Nolan let out a sigh as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

What a day to come back home.

Around the kitchen table, Greg Mendell, the supposedly architect he had just hired, looked like a cornered dog. Neal Cassidy, the son-in-law he never got to have due to a most unfortunate turn of events, seemed to be positively annoyed, and suspicious.

He liked Neal.

If it weren't for the unexpected scene from moments ago, the two of them would be in the lounge in the basement, shooting pool and having a few beers...

He knew his daughter. And if she had indeed fired her former fiance, then things had probably been nasty.

Sadly, though, that matter would have to wait.

"So you're not an architect," he said at last.

"I'm not."

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a food critic."

"A food critic?"

"Yes."

He watched as Neal frowned, taking another sip of his coffee. He was probably wondering how on earth he had managed to hire an architect that was not an architect. He was a cop, after all. That kind of thing didn't usually fly under his radar.

"Let me guess," said David, trying to hide his discomfort as he shifted on his chair. "Greg Mendell is not your real name."

The man rubbed his eyes, and took off his beret.

"No. It's Owen. Owen Flynn."

"Who do you work for?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody?"

"Nobody."

It was Neal's turn to shift on his chair. His slightly bloodshot eyes were gleaming with anger, and he was flexing his fingers over the table. If there was one thing David knew very well about that man, other than his undying love for his daughter, was his short temper.

"You're telling me..." David continued, leaning back on the chair and crossing his arms, "that you managed to get all these reference letters... A fake ID... Documents... All by yourself?"

"No, not by myself."

"I thought you'd said you were working alone?"

"I didn't say I was working alone. I said I was not working for anyone," Greg replied, a cheeky smirk curving his lips. "If you want the right answers, you've got to ask the right quest-"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence, though. Neal had stood up after knocking off his own chair, locked Greg's arm behind his back and twisted his hand upwards, while forcing his head against the table with a very loud thud.

"Gods!" Greg spluttered, wincing as Neal's elbow connected to the back of his neck. "He did say you were a brute!"

David realized Neal's grasp seemed to slacken for a moment, his eyes going strangely vacant before he was once again slamming the man against the table.

"The video. How did you get it?"

"Not telling"

"You'd better," Neal hissed, twisting the man's arm harder, "unless you want a broken limb."

"I'm not afraid!"

"You sure?"

One glance at the enraged man behind him seemed to make Greg Mendell falter in his resolve.

"M-Maybe I am," he stuttered, trying to maintain whatever dignity he had been left at that point. "Just a little bit. But I'm still not telling!"

"You said you are a food critic, right?"

David's voice made both men turn their heads - Greg, not without a certain amount of struggle.

"Then I suppose you know what this is?" he said, holding out a small brown paper package sealed with a a golden insignia.

Greg squinted for a moment, his head tilted in a strange angle since Neal's elbow was still pinning his neck against the table.

"I do!" he exclaimed, eyes wide at the sudden realization. "How did you get it?"

"Just returned from a holiday in Europe. Got it from the Johannsons themselves," said David, carefully breaking the seal to reveal the contents of the package. "It tastes like heaven."

"I'm sure it does..." Greg muttered in response, his gaze following the brown paper dreamily. "It's one of the most exquisite kinds of cheese in the world... A very rare treat..."

"That's correct," said David. "How about this: you talk, and it's yours. You don't..."

He broke the tiny piece of cheese in two, and threw one of its halves on the garbage bin.

_"Nooooooo!"_

Greg's eyes seemed about to pop out of his skull when he screamed, and Neal looked positively baffled by his reaction.

"Dude, it's just cheese!"

"It's not just cheese!" Greg's face was scarlet when he snarled, trying to break free from the other man's clutch. "This is _moose_ cheese, you brainless, uneducated thug!"

"Hey, what's with the name calling?" Neal replied, after finally releasing the man's arms. "And who told you I was a brute?"

"What, as if that needed telling!" Greg grunted, straightening his coat as he rearranged the beret on his head. "Your manners, sir, speak for themselves!"

Neal was about to throw a punch that would hit the man in front of him square on the jaw, but David was quick to restrain him.

"Gentlemen, please, can we not?"

"H-He started it!" moaned Greg, pointing an accusing finger at his counterpart.

"No, actually, you did," David responded, as soon as Neal got himself together and walked towards the sink. "Now, who are you working f-... with?"

"Do I have your word you're not calling the cops if I tell you everything?"

"I am the cop, Greg. I mean, Owen."

"Still. Are you going to arrest me?"

"For lying about your qualifications? Not sure that is a crime."

"I'm sure he's lying about a lot more than that..." said Neal, after getting himself a glass of water.

"The cheese." In the meantime, Greg had pulled out a chair and taken a seat. "I wanna try it first."

"Be my guest..."

After placing the miniscule piece of cheese on the center of the table, Neal and David pulled out chairs and waited as the man between them poked the tiny yellowish ball with reverence.

"Leroy. The man's name is Leroy. That's whom I got the video from."

David scratched his nose in a clear attempt to hide his surprise. Could it be? His own informant selling privileged information to other people? How come he hadn't gotten his hands on that video before?

"Wait a minute," he said at last. "Was he the one that told you about Neal? How's-"

"We might have had a few drinks in the past," Neal explained, with a careless shrug. "That is, if we are talking about the same Leroy, that is not exactly a rare nam-"

"We are talking about the same Leroy alright," Greg interrupted, once again glaring daggers at the dark-haired man in front of him. "The dwarf, the one that goes by the alias Grumpy."

"I have no idea what you're tal-"

"Bullshit! He told me you've been doing business with him for ages."

"Business?" asked David, only to be met with one of Neal's trademark scrunched up faces.

"My oh my, looks like the former gang member is in hot water!"

Again, David had to restrain Neal, who seemed ready to tear out Greg's vocal cords with his bare hands. Former gang member, yes, he knew that about Mr. Gold's son. He knew the tragic story of that family, he knew Neal's motivations had to do not only with Emma but with Killian Jones as well. But that kind of info was not that easy to obtain, not even in the black market.

"I swear, I'm gonna kill that dwarf!"

"Who are you working for?" David asked, as soon as Neal calmed down and no longer had a gleaming, murderous look in his eyes.

"Nobody," he replied. "I'm in it for personal reasons. You know why."

"You're not with an agency?"

"No."

"Federals?"

He saw Neal fidget with his car keys before speaking again.

"Nah. I don't like people telling me around," he answered, looking uninterested. "I'm on my own."

"Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I bet your father would say the same thing."

For a moment, the two of them were so caught up in their own thoughts that Greg Mendell could have sneaked out of the kitchen - and out of their lives, for that matter - without being noticed. But he took a minute too long to take action, and by the time he had pocketed whatever had been left of his cheese and tip-toed towards the door, David was already grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"We're not done with you yet," said David, after pulling him back towards the chair.

"I held my end of the bargain! You wanted to know who had given me the video, there you go."

"That is not what I asked."

"I think that's exact-"

"I asked you who you're working with."

"Mercy me, and isn't that what I have _just_ told you?"

"Leroy alone wouldn't have gotten you fake docs, I'll tell you this. It's not his specialty."

Neal's gaze shifted from Greg to the older man by his side.

"How do you ev-"

"Later, Cassidy."

David Nolan hardly ever looked pissed. But when he did, and when he started calling people by their last names, it was wise not to argue.

"Yes, sir."

"I have told you everything I know!" Greg whimpered.

"You'll have to do better than that."

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"No," David tightened his grip on the man's collar, his eyes alit with a silent threat. "You're not."

"Fine..."

Aware he really had no option but to spill the beans, Greg rubbed his eyes, his beret firmly secured in his sweaty hands.

"Look," he said, his eyes darting around the kitchen as he spoke. "You have no idea how hard I had to work to get this far, if you ruin it for me, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Neal interrupted, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow. "Slap us with your beret?"

Greg's jaw dropped.

"Is that the best taunt you can think of?" he asked, with a disdainful smile. "Really?"

"I don't like you."

"Looks like we have something in common, because I don't like you either."

"I'm glad you both are on the same page, then," said David. "Now get to the point."

After throwing Neal a dirty look, Greg took a long, deep breath as he prepared to tell his tale.

"Right. Years ago, my father and I went on a camping trip. But the weather was bad and we had to seek refuge in a hotel. The Regal, it was called."

"The Regal?"

"Yes. The one you're thinking of. The one..."

"...that belongs to Regina Mills," Neal completed.

"Yes. Well, to cut a long story short, Ms. Mills got rather... attached to the two of us. When the day for our departure came, she... She wouldn't let us go."

"How long ago was that?" asked David.

"25 years ago. I was just a boy."

"Aah... That's a few years after Mary Margaret and I had Emma... Regina did seem rather distraught that we had a child and she didn't."

"You tell me! Before I knew, she was buying me clothes," Greg's eyes went wide, as if he was revisiting a rather scary nightmare. "Offering to help me with my homework - and that was because I was on school break! But what really scared me was the day when she offered to brush my teeth..." the man shuddered, and his next few words were nothing but a whisper, "...and then asked me to call her _'mommy'_!

"Well, anyway. One day we decided to dress like the hotel housekeepers and run for our lives. But she caught us. My father stayed behind to give me a chance... And that was the last time I saw him.

"Weeks later, I read it on the paper he had died after choking on his morning cereal..."

"Regina's trademark excuse," David exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table and making both men jump. "She poisoned him."

"Yes!"

"Trademark excuse?"

"The same happened with Mary Margaret's father. 'Choked on cereal' my ass. Problem is she uses some kind of poison that is untraceable..."

"Regina Mills killed Mary Margaret's father?"

"Later, Cassidy."

"Yes, sir."

"So there you go," Greg continued. "Needless to say I spent a lifetime looking for ways to send that woman to jail.

"One day, I was in Vegas when I spotted the two of them together, Regina and Killian Jones. It was only a fleeting encounter, but I decided to follow him from that day on. And then the letter came and I just-"

"Wait, letter?" asked David. "What letter?"

Too tired to actually get into another argument, Greg simply took out an envelope from an inside pocket in his coat, and handed it to the man by his side.

_"Dear Mr. Flynn,_

_I applaud you on the initiative in attempting to track down Regina Mills and Killian Jones._

_You should realize, however, that you are not remotely qualified for that job. Therefore, please take this letter as an offer of support in your quest - you and I do share the same goal, after all._

_I am attaching a few items to this letter, including documents that might come in handy. The resume and reference letters are bound to facilitate your participation at the selection process at the Nolans (see map on the following page)._

_Once you get there, you will be surrounded by five other people who have equal reasons (maybe stronger reasons, even) to be working against the Mills-Jones duo. Make use of that opportunity._

_In time, you'll be hearing from me again._

_Kindest Regards,_

_Six."_

"Oh well..." whispered David. "Now that puts an interesting spin on things..."

"Six people infiltrated under your own roof, David? How the hell did that happen?"

"Can I go home now?" asked Greg, whose shoulders seemed to slump more at each passing minute.

"Two of them do not surprise me at all," answered David, while putting the letter back inside the envelope. "It's the other four that worry me..."

"What other four? I think your math is off, since three of those people are sitting around this table."

David raised his eyebrows at Neal's words.

"Was I that obvious?" he asked.

"You're in law enforcement. You guys are not usually subtle, are you?"

"I've been on a tough spot since Killian saved my life... You know? When your father sent him a bouquet of roses wrapped in... What is the name of that plant?"

"Dreamshade," Neal muttered, his annoyance showing on every line of his face.

"Exactly. The one I ended up collecting by mistake. Truth is that Killian was the only one who knew what the antidote was."

"He only saved you because he wanted to impress Emma... And that he did... So much she ended up marrying him."

"You are unbelievable..." Greg snorted, staring at Neal as he spoke.

"What is it now?"

"Oh, nothing, don't mind me…"

Neal frowned as he looked at the man by his side. There had to be some sort of reason for all that animosity. It couldn't be only because he knew nothing about cheese!

"So what's in it for you?" asked Greg, turning to look at David once again. "I'm doing it because I want Regina behind bars, _homie_ here wants Killian out of the way to get your daughter back..."

"What the fuck is your prob-"

"… but what about you? Why are _you_ doing it?"

That was a fair question. Why had he, David Nolan, been sneaking up on his son-in-law, while trying, at the same time, to gather evidence against Regina Mills? There was nothing to be gained from it – except for a pissed off daughter for his prying on her husband, and a pissed off wife for his prying on her stepmother, who she insisted on forgiving despite all the atrocities that woman had committed.

"I want to see Regina pay for her crimes as well," he answered. "And Killian. The two of them harmed people I care for," his gaze shifted to Neal for a brief moment. "I want justice."

In the meantime, Greg Mendell had taken the cheese out of his pocket and was now looking at it with a smirk.

"Justice…" he muttered. "Oh well. Aren't you Prince Charming?"


	5. Chapter 5: The swan song

**Chapter 5: The swan song**

"Hello?"

"Robin?"

"Oh, hi, Princess."

"Don't call me that."

"Relax, I'm just trying to get on your nerves. I know you prefer your other moniker... What is it, again? _Warrior._"

"It's better than _Prince of Thieves._"

"No, it's not," he said, leaning back on the chair as he held the cell phoneto his ear. "But anyway, I take it you're calling to check if it's done?"

"Is it?"

"Yes. My retirement act. The swan song."

"Interesting choice of words."

"It is, indeed! Do you think she'll be mad?"

"I hope so. Serves her right for associating with that monster."

"Well, all I know is that I've done my part. Looks like little Roland won't be getting a Playstation 4 for Christmas, after all... But, alas, it's for a good cause."

"You don't get to complain. I hear you already got your annual bonus."

"That I did."

"Lucky you!"

"Oh, here he comes. Gotta go!"

He hung up and pretended to be shuffling through a pile of forms when his boss walked past the glass door leading into his office."

"Good morning, Mr. Jones."

As usual, the man completely ignored him.

* * *

_"What's your name?"_

_He turned to look at the girl sitting by the table across from his. It was hard to see her face under the shadow of her hoodm but the very little he could see showed him she was smiling._

_No, not smiling. More like smirking._

_"Neal."_

_"No, it's not."_

_"He raised an eyebrow, and looked around to make sure there was no one else but the two of them in the dining hall._

_"It's Baelfire. I read it in your file."_

_She pulled back her hood to reveal her blond hair, and rested her face on her hand. Her greenish eyes were fiery and daring, even though she looked much younger than him._

_"You don't talk much, do you?" she asked._

_He lowered his eyes to the table, giving her the silent answer she already knew she would get._

_"Why are you here?"_

_"If you looked at my file," he said, "then you know it already."_

_And what an interesting file he had. Thrown into the foster system at age ten, then "adopted" by the same man who had destroyed his family, then back at foster homes._

_There wasn't much he wanted to talk about._

_"Your father's in jail and your mother's dead," she replied, her eyes losing some of their spark as she spoke. "I'm sorry."_

_"That's ok."_

_He fidgeted with a loose string of wool hanging from his sweater, trying to clear his mind of certain memories he did not want to revisit._

_"What's your name?"_

_"Emma. Emma Swan."_

_"Is that your real name?"_

_And then, she was smiling again, and the spark of defiance was back in her eyes._

_"No. And you have no idea as to where they keep the files, do you?"_

_His lips curled into a half-smile. And so, she liked challenges._

_So did he._

_"How does it feel?" she asked, after stretching her arms and locking her fingers behind her head. "To be outsmarted by a 13-year old?"_

_"Are you really 13? You look older."_

_"You don't look your age, either. Seventeen, is that right?"_

_"Yup."_

_"I bet you wish you could take a look at those files now, don't you?"_

_As she spoke, his eyes drifted from her face to her wrist, which was wrapped in bandages._

_"That depends," he replied. "Will they hurt me if I try to?"_

_Suddenly, the smile disappeared from her face, and she covered her wrist with the sleeve of her sweater as soon as she realized what he was looking at._

_Slowly, he stood up and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he walked toward the exit. Before leaving, though, he stopped to whisper something in her ear._

_"Your real name is Emma Ruth Nolan, and you were born in Maine on October 22, 1983. Your parents died when you were six and no other relatives claimed you. The files? They're in the second room on the right in the basement, but during the day, a thug that goes by the name Tony keeps guard and I hear he likes to hurt 13-year olds who like to be sneaky."_

_He could see her swallowing even though she had not turned her head to look at him._

_"Be more careful the next time, he said, before pulling up his hood and walking out of the hall._

"Neal?"

It took him a couple of seconds for him to realize who was calling him.

"Hey," he said, straightening himself on the beach chair at the balcony his stepmother had decorated with plants and Christmas lights, though it was still October. "Sorry, I was..."

"... lost in thought? I could see that."

Belle gave him a glass and poured him some wine before taking a seat on the chair by his side.

* * *

So that was what they called karma. Out of all the maladies that could afflict him, his knee had gotten ruined.

Turned out that getting knocked out of a car had done nothing but aggravated his injured leg, and know he could barely walk without feeling his knee was being mashed by a hammer. Haha. How hilarious. Father and son working together to make his life hell.

He limped towards the mirror across from his desk, and arched an eyebrow with a smirk.

"Come at me, Lady Fortune. Come at me..." he said, checking his leather pants as he smoothed his blood red satin shirt. "You think you can bring me down? Well, you can't. I got Emma Swan. I got money. I'm past 40 and I still look as hot as hell. I'm invincible."

Just then, his phone rang, and he was forced to limp back to his desk.

"What?"

"Mr. Jones, it's Habitat for Humanity on the line."

"Habi-what?"

"Habitat for Humanity. It's a nonprofit that builds houses for the poor."

"Huh. And what the hell do they want from me?"

"I don't know, sir. Perhaps invite you for one of their fundraising events?"

"I don't go to fundraising events, Robin, how many times do I hav-"

"I apologize, sir," his personal assistant was quick to interrupt. "I reckoned you might take an interest in it because... you know, because of Mrs. Swan. She's rather passionate about the nonprofit cause."

"Hmmm..."

It took him less than a minute to consider that the man had a point, after all. His sex life with his beautiful wife sucked as of lately. Maybe playing the selfless hero would warm her heart (as well as other more _interesting_ parts of her body) towards him?

"Okay," he said at last, slumping onto his presidencial chair. "I'll talk to them."

He tapped his fingers against the surface of his mahogany table as he waited for the call to get transfered.

"Mr. Jones?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Marco, and I speak in behalf of Habitat for HHumanity. How are you today?"

_Oh, how he hated those peasants!_ Especially the ones that sounded so... _nice_.

"Busy," he snarled in response.

"Oh, I understand, sir, I'll be brief. I'm just calling to let you know we were greatly surprised by your very generous donation to our cause. Please, don't get me worng, sir. It's not as if we ever doubted your genero-"

"Wait, wait," he interrupted, suddenly alarmed at the man's words. _"What donation?"_

"Of course, I forget! You and your company must support a plethora of other nonprofits, I should have known. I refer to the 64 million dollar donation credited to our account earlier this morning."

Killian Jones felt a very specific part of his body had clenched rather violently.

"We were flabbergasted! It has to be some sort of rec-"

The man's euphoria, however, didn't seem to rub off on him. He hung up, cursing under his breath as he imagined all sorts of blunders that could explain that situation. He _most certainly_ had not made any donations. Luckily, someone at the accountancy would be able to explain what the hell was going on, he thought, as he dialed his bookkeeper's number.

"The Jolly Roger Incorporated, good morning. You have reached the Financial Department, this is Keith speaking. How may I help you?"

"For crying out loud, Keith! Remind me to change that ridiculous greeting, it's revoltingly long!"

"I agree, sir, I've always thought the same. How can I help you, sir?"

Killian frowned for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

"Jesus, I don't even remember now!"

"Sorry, sir."

"Oh! I remember. Did you authorize any bank transactions this morning?"

"I did, sir."

"Tell me it didn't happen to be a 64 million-dollar donation to Home Depot."

"No, sir, that was not it," Keith replied, much to the other man's relief. "It was a 64 million dollar donation to Habitat for Humanity."

Killian Jones felt he was about to choke on his tongue.

"Keith?"

"Yes, sir?"

_"I did not authorize any donations."_

He was trying his best to keep his voice down. It was all a misunderstanding. _It had to be_.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm looking at the authorization forms right now and they are all signed. And there is a note saying your assistant contacted the back in person to confirm the transaction as well."

"What are you talking ab-"

His voice died in his throat when realization finally hit him.

And when he did, the phone that got tossed across the room was the first to feel his rage.

_"Roooobiiiiiiin!"_

* * *

"You've got a nice little place up here," said Neal, sipping some of the wine as he looked at the plants scattered around the small balcony and the beach-like feel to some of the furniture Belle had arranged."Is this your hideout when my father is being an ass?"

"Bae, stop it!" Belle replied, pushing his arm playfully. "Your father is not an ass."

She drank some of her wine as well, her eyes still sparkling with mischief.

"Well, maybe sometimes."

"My point exactly," he responded, with a chuckle.

"Don't let him hear that."

"Nah. He knows we know it."

"But that we love him regardless," she added. "That is true."

When he turned his head to look at his stepmother, he realized she was staring at him.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing... It's just that I'm not used to seeing you in jeans. You always seem to be wearing a suit and tie when you visit during the week."

"I got fired."

"You did?"

"Yes... And no. Emma told me to hit the road, but David wants me to hang around. And since I'm in his payroll and not in hers... I don't know. I think I still have a job?"

"You look tired."

"Yeah..." he stretched on the beach chair and stifled a yawn before speaking again. "That's because _I am_ tired. Good thing is that Henry is coming over tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? But it's only Wednesday. Is this a new arrangement?"

"No... Emma just... I don't know. She texted me asking if I could watch over him while she... took care of some business. And of course I agreed."

"By the way, what is it I hear Killian got custody rights over Henry?"

"Ah… So you already know."

"Is that even legal? Can he do that?"

"It's not as if he has a problem bending the law, is it?" he sighed. "You remember who his lawyer is."

"Albert Spencer."

The mere mention of that name made his blood boil. He wished he could be as forgiving as Belle, who seemed to have recovered well from Killian Jones shooting her on the back. Of course, the fact his father had been the only witness might not have helped things much, but Jones's fingerprints were all over the place. He didn't even bother denying it, on the very contrary: he remembered how the man had boasted about nearly killing Belle – to the point of almost writing an ode about it to congratulate himself on his bad form.

And yet, in a combination of luck, people's forgetfulness, corruption and lack of logic, he had been pronounced not guilty in court.

Neal downed his wine, biting his tongue not to curse. There were things in life he would never, _ever_ understand.

"Just think about it," he said. "Killian Jones signing my son's report cards… Consent forms for him to travel… It's so humiliating."

"What was the claim?" she asked, refilling her glass as well as his. "For him to even… _attempt_ to get custody, what did he use against you?"

He let out an unhappy sigh after taking a large gulp from his glass. The view from the top of his father's house worked as a nice distraction, his eyes darting from rooftop to rooftop as he spoke.

"He claimed… I was illiterate."

He heard Belle choke by his side, coughing as she wiped the wine that had spilled onto her dress.

"What do you mean, _illiterate_?"

"As in, lacking the capacity to read and understand forms and other documents."

"You can't be serious."

"That's exactly what I said when Spencer stopped by my place," he replied. "And then he said all I had to do was pass a written test to prove him wrong."

"A written test?" Belle asked, scrunching up her face. "What sort of written test?"

He scratched his neck, wrinkling his nose as he spoke.

"A one-page summary of Finnegans Wake."

_"What?"_

When he looked at the woman by his side, he realized her jaw had dropped.

"Yeah."

"But that's impossible! Even for people who have been studying Joyce for ages!"

"Like you."

"Like me, yes," she replied, still sounding deeply shocked by his reveal. "It just can't be done!"

He smiled lightly, feeling a little bit better in spite of the very vivid memory of the humiliating moment when he handed the blank page back to Jones's lawyer.

"I just... I wish I had studied more," he whispered, looking at his own feet as he spoke. "I should've gone to college, I should have found a way..."

"You can still go to college if you want to."

As usual, Belle's voice was understanding and full of affection. He really didn't know what he would have done if Killian had managed to off her - her constant support and company, sometimes, were pretty much the only things that kept him from falling apart at the seams.

"College is for kids," he said, shaking his head. "I'm too old now."

"Too old? You're 33!"

"Yeah, I am... And you should see the looks I get when I say I barely made it through high school..."

"Baelfire," Belle responded, resting a hand over his, "you should see the looks I get when I say I'm married to an ex-convict who's... decades older than me."

He closed his eyes when she squeezed his shoulder, trying to offer him some comfort.

"It doesn't matter what other people say."

"I know," he replied, feeling his voice starting to catch on his throat. "I just... I just wanted Henry to be proud of me. Being labeled illiterate does not sound like the way to go."

He cleared his throat, trying to look as if the words leaving his lips didn't affect him at all, but his slightly moist eyes gave him away.

"There's something else bothering you, isn't there?" Belle whispered, her hand once again covering his. "Is it Emma?"

He pouted, dropping his gaze to the floor and saying nothing for a very long minute.

"Every time I look at her all I can see is everything we could have been but weren't..." he replied, his voice quiet and throaty as he stared at the concrete under his feet. "She's... changed. And in the four years I've worked for the Nolans... For the first time, I think... I think I lost her for good."

He sniffed, gulping the rest of his wine to stifle a sob.

"Gee," he said, a bright, forced smile curling his lips when he looked at his stepmother. "This damn wine, what the hell, Belle?"

"I hear its tannins open up lacrimal ducts," she replied, with an even wider smile. "I should have warned you."

"Thank you. I don't... I don't know what our lives would be without you."

"Oh... I bet you would have a lot of fun without me."

"When you got shot... I swear, if you had died..."

"I didn't, okay? I didn't. I'm here, and I'm fine."

There was a moment of silence in which the two of them simply stared at the skyline ahead, the sound of cars driving past in the street below a faint reminder of their daily routines.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Does Tamara know?"

"What?"

"That you still love Emma?"

_As if he wasn't feeling bad enough about himself already._

"I'm such a creep, aren't I?"

"You're complicated. I think you took after your father."

"I suppose..."

"But... Seriously... You never actually told me how you and Tamara ended up engaged. You just said the two of you met in Brazil."

"Ahh... That's ... _complicated._"

Belle tilted his head to look at him with a smirk.

"Now you just piqued my interest."

"Nah... You have your post-doc to finish, I don't want you t-"

"My post-doc can wait. Unless, of course, you're not comfortable talking about it."

His gaze dropped to the floor again as he thought about it. If there was anyone who he knew he could open up with, it had to be Belle.

"Well, then," he said at last, reaching for the bottle of wine they had just emptied, "you'd better open another one of these, because it's gonna be a hell of a long story."

* * *

**A/N: Off to a Neverland flashback next chapter! Hope you're all ready for a little twist.**


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